


something I'd be good at

by wanderloved



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderloved/pseuds/wanderloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d walked away, each step heavy with the knowledge that if her feelings wouldn’t leave then the next best option was self-imposed exile. Distance, she told herself. Distance would make her forget.</p><p>She'd failed to remember that distance only makes the heart grow fonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something I'd be good at

She’d been lying to herself when she said she left because of Rachel. True, Rachel had been part of the problem. Watching the fiercest woman she knew open her own wrists, the blood flowing from her veins like a long-overdue offering to a merciless god - that had been far from easy. It hurt that Rachel refused to meet her eyes, refused to let her daughter take care of her. After a while, Charlie found she’d stopped wanting to. But it had been more than that. It had been shock, grief, the bottomless pit of guilt she saw in Miles’ eyes whenever they met. She’d wanted to shake him, to hit him, batter his demons into submission. Worse, she’d wanted to hold him, slip into his bed, offer forgiveness with her body, her lips soft against his, a plea for understanding, for hope.

That was the real reason she’d walked away from Willoughby, from Aaron, from Rachel, from the grandfather she barely remembered. She’d walked away because it hurt too much to look at him while he looked at her mother. She knew that he felt unworthy of them, like he was holding them back from whatever goodness stood in their future with his very presence. And she couldn’t bear it anymore.

He’d embraced her when she left, his hand cupping the back of her head so tenderly the way he always did. It would have taken so little to lean her head back, to brush her lips against his, consequences be damned. It would have been so easy, and still she hadn’t done it. His closeness had filled her eyes with tears, the feel of his body hard and careful against hers, and she’d let him believe that it was the pain of leaving that ailed her. And then they’d parted, the moment lost just like so many others before it. She’d walked away, each step heavy with the knowledge that if her feelings wouldn’t leave then the next best option was self-imposed exile. Distance, she told herself. Distance would make her forget.

She’d failed to remember that distance only makes the heart grow fonder.

 

She throws herself into her travels, reckless and headstrong and hollow-eyed. Maggie had once told her that before the blackout men and women often went traveling across nations and continents after graduation, looking for themselves. Charlie can see the similarities, but she doubts those trips had been much like this.

She kisses and fights her way up into the Plains Nation, heading west because there’s no going back to the places she’s been. Sometimes she combines her two favourite activities, discovering a new penchant for rough sex in all the forms she can find it, so very different from the gentle touches Jason had once offered her. It’s fun and her body responds so easily, but it always feels wrong somehow, empty. She continues on regardless, convincing herself that if she only tries hard enough she’ll eventually forget about that essential part of her hidden away in a small town in Texas.

She’s still waiting for that oblivion when she finds herself in a noisy bar in a town in north-west Kansas, soggy and ready for a strong drink after a long day of walking for hours in what felt like a never-ending cascade of rain. She moves toward the bartender with tunnel-vision born of aching bones and an unquenchable thirst, not just for whiskey. She’ll drink first, like she usually does, then find someone willing to take her home at the end of the night. It’s one thing Charlie doesn’t have to struggle for, though her standards plummet as the night progresses, the alcohol turning her bones to jelly and her brain to blissful mush. 

She’s done it without the whiskey before, but she found herself much less successful in her mission of forgetting. Even now, her body craves the touch of big calloused fingers, the scrape of dark stubble against her jaw. Without the drunkenness, when she closed her eyes she imagined it was Miles’ slightly overgrown hair clutched in her fists, his angry mouth pressed to the crux of her thighs, teasing her. Every time she promises herself that he will be gone, that her one night stands will stop manifesting into her uncle as she rides them in the dark with her eyes closed, always closed, but the only way she can banish him is when she banishes everything else as well. 

It’s a trade she’s become willing to make.

She’s swallowing the night’s first mouthful of whiskey when she hears a too-familiar name that turns her to ice. The words that follow it are swallowed up by the raucous buzz of drunken chatter and loud, out of tune music, but she’d know that voice anywhere. She’s heard it enough times over the past four months in her dreams. She strains to pick it up again, her eyes desperately searching the room for some trace of him. Finding nothing but half-cut strangers in her vicinity, she resigns herself to the reality that it was just another delusion, her longing breaking into reality once again. Even if she’d heard the name Stu, it didn’t mean that he was here. It was a common enough name, she told herself. Miles was back in Willoughby with her mother. Where she’d left him.

She orders another two drinks that she throws back in a few quick gulps, the whiskey burning down her throat a reminder of her own corporeality. Standing, she sways slightly before regaining her balance, the liquor going to her head as she approaches a man sitting by himself at a small table nursing a bottle of post-blackout beer. Charlie doesn’t see the point in beer – it tastes like dirty water and there are much faster ways to get drunk, but she doesn’t hold it against the curly-haired stranger. 

He has a drawn face, solemn and broad with high cheekbones and a well-defined jaw that hasn’t recently met with a razor. His hair is sprinkled with a few greys, betraying that he’s older than his face would tell you. She likes that about him, but doesn’t allow herself to think about why. She drops into the seat across from him, reaching out and taking an impulsive swig from his bottle. Swallowing, she grimaces and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth; the taste is more unappealing that she remembered.

“You married?” she asks, not taking the absence of a wedding band as a reliable indication. Jewellery has little value as a symbol of marital commitment these days.

“Nope,” he says, barely looking at her. He reaches across the table for his beer and leans back, taking another drink like she’s not even there. It’s enough to leave Charlie practically salivating – she’s always liked a challenge. At least he’ll be easier to crack than what she really wants.

She leans toward him, standing up to get as close as possible, her shirt gaping open and exposing her cleavage, which his eyes immediately settle on. He was easier to catch than she’d hoped.

“I’m Charlie,” she whispers, just loud enough, into his ear, dipping closer to scrape her teeth over his earlobe. She feels him shudder involuntarily and smirks, settling back into her chair. He’s a fish on the end of a very tight line, and she’s not tossing him back.

“Sam,” he chokes out.

“You have somewhere to be tonight, Sam?”

He shakes his head.

“Good.” Charlie grabs his hand, still wrapped tight around his beer bottle, and pries his fingers loose one by one until his hand is in her own. Their eyes meet and it doesn’t take words for him to see what she’s looking for. She leads him toward the back door of the bar, and the way he follows without any resistance is a good indication that he’s looking for the same.

Their mouths are on one another the moment they step into the alley, and she pushes him against the brick wall forcefully. He lets out a pained sound, but Charlie disregards it, her focus very much elsewhere. She wants his hands on her, now, so she grabs them and places them on her hips. He gets the hint quickly, one hand edging down to cup her ass through her jeans. She can feel him hardening against her thigh, which brings the shadow of a smile to her lips. She’s hornier than she has been in weeks, and though she’s only had three whiskeys Sam is doing an excellent job of making her feel entirely intoxicated.

She reaches for the fastening of his jeans, eager to move this forward. She doesn’t care that they’re in a semi-public place – anyone could stumble out here and catch them at any moment. In fact, it manages to turn her on just a little bit more. His hands reach for hers, stilling them as his mouth migrates south over her neck and down to her cleavage. 

“That can wait,” he mumbles against her sun-kissed chest.

Charlie knows that her breasts aren’t the most impressive – she’s seen women with much more to offer in that department – but Sam seems quite content with what he sees as he tugs her shirt down with one hand, the other guiding Charlie’s hands up to rest on his broad shoulders. Just when she’s getting used to the sensation of his mouth and tongue on her hardened nipple, she’s being turned so that she’s the one trapped against the wall as his mouth works over one breast, his fingers finding the other.

She lets out a breathy sigh, which Sam takes as a sign that whatever he’s doing is working so far. She arches against him, aching for the friction of his body hard and strong against hers. She wants him inside of her, and isn’t sure she can wait much longer. The foreplay is great and all, but she didn’t pull him out here for foreplay.

Her hands lower again, and this time he lets her free his cock from his pants. She feels him lurch at her touch, then she reaches for her own jeans, pushing them over her narrow hips along with her underwear. The cold night air sends a chill through her, and then Sam is pushing her up against the wall again, hard against her bare thigh.

“Ready, old man?” she whispers in his ear, her voice husky and lust-filled. She speaks before she considers that he might find that insulting, but he doesn’t back away from her. Instead, his hand disappears between them, then he’s guiding himself into her. She hitches one leg around his waist, giving him easier access to her ready center. He slips into her without resistance and she feels his hardness filling her up as he moves deeper. Her head leans back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed as he sweeps her hair over her shoulder, his mouth settling on her neck like it’s the sweetest morsel he’s ever tasted.

They get a good rhythm going, and Charlie begins to float away, her mind blissfully separating from her body. This is why she fucks strangers. This escape is all she has. She can still feel him inside her, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her from falling, but it’s all muted, like it’s happening to someone else. In this instant, she’s both participant and observer, and then she’s pulled back down to earth as his fingers connect with her clit, rubbing her to a quick orgasm. She throws her head back without thinking, connecting with the bricks of the wall behind her with a loud thud. She’d been seeing stars already, but now the starburst behind her eyelids is confused, an accidental mixture of pleasure and intense pain. Breath laboured, she leans forward again, clutching Sam and moaning out a name that is not his.

“God, Miles,” she coos, her voice low and tortured, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s said until she sees him step out of the shadows of the alley, his face a shocked reflection of her own. Miles.

She blinks back tears. It’s just the force of her orgasm, conjuring up the object of her unrelenting lust once again. There’s no way… But when she looks in his direction again, he’s still standing there, gobsmacked. His eyes are dark and full of familiar shame, and something else. Something that Charlie has seen in so many men and women, but never the one she wanted. Lust. And then she knows that she must be imagining this, that her head must have hit the wall harder than she thought, because Miles would never look at her like that. 

Only a few seconds have passed, but as Charlie comes down from one of the most powerful, strange orgasms of her life, she notices that Sam too has reached completion, leaning against her like he’ll collapse if she tries to move. She nuzzles her cheek against his neck, an uncharacteristically affectionate post-sex action that feels bizarre but also so right, the feeling of his scruff scratching against her face so satisfying. She looks back over his shoulder, and Miles is still standing there, staring at her like she’s a ghost, like she’s the one who can’t be real. She concentrates hard on banishing him from her head, but to no avail.

Even the whiskey can’t get rid of him anymore.

Regaining full consciousness, Sam tucks himself back into his pants and awkwardly kisses Charlie on the cheek. She recoils, pulling her own jeans back up and sending him back inside.

“That was fun. Thanks,” she says. When it’s clear that there is no point in sticking around, Sam retreats back into the bar. 

Charlie, confused and still frustrated, slumps against the wall, sliding down to sit quietly on the dirty concrete. Her senses no longer flooded with the immediacy of sex, she notices the unpleasant scent of urine and rotten garbage permeating the alley, but she doesn’t bother to move back inside. Her eyes are still locked on the phantom Miles, standing across the alley staring at her.

“Charlie,” he rasps, and the sound of his voice, ragged and raw, brings Charlie to tears again. 

He’s not real. He’s not here. He doesn’t want you.

But it feels so real, and when he takes a step towards her she feels her cheeks dampen as the tears rush out of her. “You’re not real,” she whispers, an attempt to convince herself.

“Charlie,” he says again, and the lump in Charlie’s throat grows as she presses her eyes shut, hoping that this illusion torturing her will have disappeared by the time she opens her eyes again. But when she does, he’s standing even closing and she can smell him, the same familiar Miles scent that she knows so well: a hint of goat’s milk soap mixed with the more powerful aroma of smoke that lingers on him even when he’s freshly bathed. God, that smell does things to her.

“You’re not real,” she repeats, pulling her knees up to her chest like they’ll protect her from herself.

“I’m as real as you are, kid,” Miles says, crouching down in front of her. He rests a hand on her knee, and she can feel the pressure of his warm palm through the fabric of her jeans. He feels so real, but she can’t bring herself to believe it. He can’t be real. If he was real… Well, if he was real he’d have just watched her fuck a stranger and moan out his name at the height of her orgasm. 

“Miles,” she whimpers, reaching out for him. She can barely see for the tears clouding her eyes, but when her hand finds his face she knows. There’s no believing otherwise – he’s real. He’s there. Miles. “You – how? What are you doing here?”

“Been looking everywhere for you. I’ve seen half of Kansas trailing your ass – trust me, I have no desire to see the other half.” He turns into her hand, his lips softer than she’d expected against her palm.

“How did you find me?” She pulls her hand back from him reluctantly to wipe the tears from her eyes. God, she must look a mess, her hair mussed and her face red and tear-stained. A dull pain radiates from the back of her head, but she barely notices it in Miles’ presence.

“Had no choice. Gotta say, really didn’t expect this to be how I’d find you,” he gestures at her, and Charlie looks down to see that her shirt is still pulled down, one nipple poking out from her bra cup. She blushes, tucking herself back into her shirt.

“Well, if I’d known you were looking for me…” She tries not to think about the fact that Miles had been looking at her tits. “Why are you here? I thought you’d stay with mom and grandpa.”

“Guess I realised how stupid it was to let you go.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t stop me.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.” She lets herself meet his eyes again, and he’s staring at her like she’s the most magnificent creature he’s ever laid eyes on. There’s a reverence in his eyes that she’s never seen before, that she never knew she was looking for. Her tongue slips out to wet her chapped, kiss-bruised lips and she swears she sees Miles draw in a shallow breath.

She thought she’d want him less after the months they spent apart, but obviously not.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.

“I heard.” He smirks, and Charlie bites her lip, colour rising in her cheeks. “I missed you, too.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here. And that you heard… that.” Charlie’s eyes are focused resolutely on the cracked concrete between her feet.

“Don’t think I’ll ever be able to unhear that,” Miles says, voice husky and if she didn’t know better she’d think he was seducing her.

She risks lifting her gaze, searching out Miles’ brown eyes. She finds a softness in his eyes that is entirely absent in his hard body, but there’s so much else there that she can’t parse through it all. The warmth of his hand still on her knee is burning through her jeans and every nerve in her body is on edge with wanting.

“Maybe next time I’ll earn it.” His hand ghosts up her leg and Charlie inhales sharply as he moves closer. She’s afraid that if she reacts, if she moves or speaks the bubble of the moment will burst and she will be left alone again in this cold alley. But his hand is on her thigh, searing into her and this isn’t the familiar sensation of her imagination. This is real. Miles is real, touching her, his lips so close to hers and yet not upon her, are so, so real.

She closes the distance between them, catching his soft sigh with her mouth and pressing deeper into his touch, resting a hand on top of Miles’.

A moment passes, lost in the sensation of impact, of tongues exploring forbidden territory and Miles’ hand slips farther up Charlie’s thigh, guided by her own. And then he’s pulling away and it’s like she can’t breathe. She follows his movement, desperate to return to the bliss of contact, but he stops her.

“Not here,” he whispers, his hand leaving her thigh as he stands up. He reaches down to pull her to her feet and she steps closer, placing another brief kiss on his lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be able to do that,” she sighs, and follows as he leads her back inside and up the stairs, pausing at the landing to press her up against a wall and crush his lips against hers with a frenzy that tells her that it’s been building to a crest in him too. She lets out a surprised giggle as she hits the wall, wrapping her lithe arms around his neck and returning his ferocity.

When they stumble into his room, entwined in one another, Charlie has never felt more sober in her life. Her head is clear and every moment, every movement is inked into her like a tattoo. Maybe there won’t be any more nights like this one, maybe Miles will wake up in the morning hating himself and hating her, but she’ll have this. This night will always be there for her to draw on, to look back on as the night her life was perfect.

They don’t bother with lighting the oil lamps on the bedside tables, instead moving straight to the bed.

“Here,” Miles says into her hair. “This is where I want you. Where I’ve always wanted you, since the day your dumb ass showed up in my bar, I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs. Then you just had to be my brother’s kid, didn’t you?”

“I can’t help who my parents are. I don’t hold it against you that you’re my dad’s brother, do I?” Charlie says, sliding her hands under his shirt and over his abs, the soft hair on his belly and chest contrasting with his hard muscles. He kisses her forehead, a remnant of the chaste affection they shared for months but that they never pushed, not until now.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he says, his lips brushing over her skin as he speaks, like he can’t bear to leave her even as he speaks the words she’s been dreading.

“When has that ever stopped us before?” She asks, laying back on the pillows and pulling him down to her. “You’re the Butcher of Baltimore, Miles. Screwing your niece isn’t going to send you to hell any faster than you’re already going. Besides, we’re Mathesons. We do what we want.”

He doesn’t argue, and when pulls his shirt over his head she knows he’s not backing out now. A sliver of moonlight through the solitary dusty window provides their only illumination as he hovers over her, holding himself just above from her body until she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him down onto her with a throaty laugh. His weight on her is the solidness she’s been seeking and it feels like the stars are all aligning in her favour for the first time in her life. 

“Don’t think, Miles,” she whispers, her mouth tracing along the stubble on his jaw. “Just do whatever you want to do.”

So he does. He grunts and moves about on the bed, pulling her on top of him and unhooking her bra from beneath her shirt. Hastily she removes them both, straddling his lap and looking down at him, his eyes rapt, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips as her nipples harden from the chill night air and her own arousal.

He looks at her like she hung the moon in the sky to use as her own personal spotlight, and she loves him for it. For everything. For helping her through the worst months of her life, for refusing to leave her, for not running away when he heard her moan his name with another man inside her. She doesn’t love him the way a niece loves her uncle. She never has, never wanted to. She’d played the part that was expected of her, even as it poisoned and wilted the parts of her that have now been ignited, set free.

She is all in, and she hopes he can see that when he looks at her because she can’t bring herself to utter the words aloud.

She can feel his desire growing beneath her and she arches her pelvis to meet his, unconsciously grinding against him until he lets out a shattered moan and pulls her back down to him, his lips on her face and her chest and then moving down her flat stomach, and lower. His fingers nimbly undo her jeans, tugging them down as he plants a series of kisses over her inner thighs and her underwear. She kicks out of her jeans and reaches for his but he beats her to it, discarding them and turning his attention back to the meeting of her thighs. She writhes under his careful touch, each kiss and each caress making her heart beat faster and whimpers escape from her lips. She’s never whined to be touched before, she thinks, but she’s not ashamed of it.

His fingers slip under her underwear and she gasps at the contact.

“Are you trying to kill me?” She hisses between breaths, her chest heaving as she fails to angle her body in a way that will provide satisfaction.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, his stubble brushing roughly against her thighs, biting down on her soft flesh then rolling his tongue over her to soothe whatever pain his teeth caused. “Just say the word.”

“I want your dumb face between my legs. Now,” Charlie growls, and then her request is fulfilled and Miles has tugged her underwear to one side, and his tongue is running along her entrance, savouring every second. She’s pretty sure if she was any wetter he’d drown down there. 

Her first orgasm of the night – she decides that the one outside no longer counts, it was so weak compared to this – shatters through her when his tongue flicks her most sensitive part and she can feel every knot in her muscles release as she reaches down, fisting his hair with one hand as the other grips the blankets underneath her.

“Charlie,” Miles says, his voice muffled and one hand reaching for her fingers that are entwined in his hair, pushing his face down. “Kind of can’t breathe down here.”

Barely grasping the meanings of his words, she lets up her vice-like grip but doesn’t remove her fingers, instead using them to absentmindedly massage his scalp as her faculties slowly return. He trails back up to her body, dropping kisses in a line up her stomach, between her breasts, and over her neck and finally finding her mouth. She can taste herself on him, yet he still tastes resolutely of himself: whiskey and spice and smoke.

She bites down on his bottom lip and his cock jerks against her thigh as she holds his lip captive between her teeth, careful not to bite hard enough to draw blood.

“Glad I’m not the only one who likes it a little rough,” she says, releasing him and tracing the pad of one finger down his spine. He shivers ever so slightly at her touch and Charlie can’t help but smile at how easy this all is. How right.

“Mmm. That’s not for tonight, though.”

He’s right. Tonight is about something altogether different, the fulfilment of long-held desires. As he slips into her, stretching her walls and causing her to press her fingertips deeper into his back, she knows that there will be no sleeping tonight. 

And if this is the alternative, maybe never again.


End file.
